Perfect Strangers: an unputdownable read full of gripping secrets and twists. Erin Knight

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      Jon had caught the sun over the weekend. Sarah had stifled a giggle last night when he’d shown her his new wetsuitshaped paler parts. Her body still reacted to him of course. It was her brain currently finding its role uncertain. Jon was handsome, charismatic, kind. Just because her mind was cautious didn’t mean her eyes didn’t enjoy what they could feast on. It was no different to Cleo tempting her with a fat slice of tiramisu when she was watching her calories. See how delicious it looks, Sarah, any sane woman would fancy a slice of that! Jon inspected Max’s crumpled activity sheet attentively, head furrowed in concentration, eyes bright and serious. Yes. Any sane woman would.

      Did it really matter that the butterflies never fully arrived? She wasn’t a teenager any more for goodness sake, she and Jon were still compatible. Conversationally. Physically. Just, no butterflies. No big deal. Okay, so there had very definitely been butterflies when Patrick first burst into her life. Great big swarming butterflies of epic proportions, like Mothra, Godzilla’s giant winged adversary. But then Patrick was a bit of a shit, and so a bit of a shitty yardstick. If it weren’t for Max and Will, she’d regret ever clapping eyes on him. Their one-time adorable how-we-met story made her shudder now. Patrick swanning into the Students’ Union, shiny new camera swinging from his neck, bracing his hands at her table declaring Sarah’s to be the most perfect profile on campus and he’d know, he’d been staring through his lens at beautiful girls all day. I’m not a pervert, he’d assured her. Well, maybe one part pervert to four parts decent chap. She should’ve taken that swinging camera and garrotted him with it. Instead, she’d made love to Patrick Harrison all afternoon and fallen hopelessly in love, becoming Mrs Harrison by the following summer.

      She glanced at Jon, Max still talking him through the creatures they’d already spotted. Jon was not a Patrick. And even though she didn’t feel butterflies, she still felt something every morning when Jon walked out suited and booted for work, and even more so now, while he was at his absolute best in casual weekend T-shirt and jeans mode. With Max, who adored him. She was lucky to get another shot at this. A family for the boys. At times she wondered if there’d been some silly mix-up. As if she was the wrong suitcase Jon had mistakenly plucked off the airport conveyor belt and was now too embarrassed to return to its rightful owner because of his own sheer stupidity at getting something so utterly obvious so utterly wrong. But only dimwits like her did things like that – although in her defence, a surprise trip to Portugal with a ten-year-old and a colicky newborn had turned out to be a particularly disorientating experience.

      Now here she was. Four years into her second chance and Jon still hadn’t decided he’d made a terrible mistake. He just kept on driving her and the boys towards a hopeful horizon. It was the strangest thing.

      ‘Whoa, Maxy . . . Who’s this beautiful creature you’ve found in the aquarium? Can we take her home and keep her?’

      Sarah’s shoulders relaxed again. ‘You looked like one of those gurners through the water,’ she smiled. ‘Reminded me a little of my Aunt Linda.’ None of Sarah’s father’s side were much for smiling, too busy in-fighting over big egos and small inheritances.

      Jon slipped his hand under the hem of her jacket. ‘And you looked like a siren.’ He pulled her into him. He was wearing the terrible Spiderman aftershave Max had bought him for Father’s Day last year. Sarah let him kiss her, hoping it might be enough to chase away the fresh doubt. ‘What do you think, Maxy, is Mum hiding a mermaid tail under this long dress, do you think?’

      Max shrugged. He didn’t care for mermaids. Sarah took a deep breath. ‘The estate agent just called.’

      ‘I know, he left me a voicemail. So, what do you think?’

      Seventeen years she’d lived in that house. Will and Max’s only home. ‘Bit scary, I guess.’

      ‘And a little bit exciting?’

      ‘Sure. It’s just . . .’

      ‘A big change?’ Jon kissed her on the head and gave the back of her neck a gentle, reassuring squeeze. ‘It’ll be okay, Sarah. I promise. This is going to be a great move for us. All of us. Especially Will.’ He nuzzled into her. ‘This is mine and Will’s chance to start a new chapter together. Not as a confused young boy and his school counsellor, or wary son and the guy who moved in, but as equals, Sarah. This is our chance to start from zero, as equals. A solid family unit.’

5

      There were two of everything in Curlew Cottage. Two saucepans, two plump little sofas, each with nautically inspired cushions, two bistro chairs sitting on the shady path out front. Isobel was disjointing the cottage’s ethos, a conspicuously single entity in a setting made for two. It didn’t strike her as a much-used holiday let. Holidaying couples looking for a peaceful bolthole from which to explore Fallenbay were welcome, the ad said. Dogs and young children, friendly or otherwise, were not.

      ‘All settled then? Is it still quiet?’ Sophie’s voice crackled down the line. Isobel pressed the phone against her ear and heard her dad and Ella roaring with laughter in the background.

      ‘Quieter than there.’ She flexed her achy calf muscles. The hill that wound its way up here was a killer. Snaking and rising all the way up to where the cottage sat like a lost shoe under a gloomy canopy of evergreens. Isobel had smelled her clutch burning on her first crawl up the private road, but the price had been right and the particulars had promised privacy. Obscurity. Curlew Cottage had pretty much delivered.

      Sophie shut a door and the laughter died. ‘Weather improved?’

      ‘Yeah, today was hot.’

      Isobel had driven through sheeting rain to Fallenbay, the air inside the cottage musty when she’d first arrived. Bright, white plastered walls cold and cave-like to the touch. It didn’t feel lived in at all, but then she’d sussed how to light the log burner and eaten her first meal-for-one looking out towards the harbour in the distance.

      One-bed cottage . . . Fronted by private woodland . . . Open aspect to the rear . . . Sea view . . . Yes there was, but to see it she’d eaten her dinner standing up, leaning against the frame of the bathroom door, the distant boats bringing welcome specks of colour through the little square window over the bathtub.

      Sophie fell quiet again. Isobel checked her reception while Sophie thought of something to say. ‘So what are you thinking to your new digs? Now you’ve been there a couple of days? Did you ask about a landline?’

      ‘There’s a landline here, in the cottage. But I’m not sure how they’d charge for any calls I make so I’m just gonna stick with my mobile.’

      ‘Great. A mobile with no reception. Here’s hoping you keep it charged, at least. What about the rest of it?’

      Of course it was charged, she wasn’t stupid. She looked around the clean, compact cottage kitchen. ‘It’s okay. It’s cosy.’

      ‘Looked pokey on the photographs.’

      ‘No, not pokey. Just . . . enough. Plenty of space actually, for a loner.’

      ‘You’re not a loner. Well, you’re not alone, anyway. Agh, I hate thinking of you there by yourself, Isobel.’

      ‘I’ll probably be back next week.’

      ‘No you won’t,’ Sophie said certainly. ‘You looked different when you left here, Is. Determined. СКАЧАТЬ